


I Don't Need You to Fix Me When You're Still Broken too.

by TobyRosetta



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Canon Divergence, Drug Abuse, Drug Addiction, Drug Withdrawal, Homophobic Language, Hurt/Comfort, I mean, Just angst, M/M, No Sex, Non-Graphic Rape/Non-Con, Past Drug Use, Past Rape, come on it's Mickey we're talking about, gratuitous use of the word 'fuck', if i missed something let me know, mentions of past rape
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-23
Updated: 2014-06-23
Packaged: 2018-02-05 21:28:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1832881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TobyRosetta/pseuds/TobyRosetta
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ian hasn't gotten out of bed in three days. Fiona keeps feeding Mickey some bullshit about Ian being just like Monica. Mickey needs to figure out how to reach Ian, and find out what's going on. Ian hasn't been right since he'd gotten back, and if Mickey's going to be out of the closet for Ian, Ian has to let Mickey into his world again. </p><p>Or</p><p>The time a season finale killed me and I had to make it better with my imagination.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Don't Need You to Fix Me When You're Still Broken too.

“Ian... Come on. It's been three days.” Mickey hissed at the motionless form curled under the thin blanket on his bed. Seeing that peek of red hair under the white fabric gave Mickey pause. Every so often he was staggered by how far they had come. That first time in his tiny bed, when Ian was 'dating' Mandy. 

When Mickey wasn't gay. 

That thought made him grin a bit sometimes, when he let himself actually dare to think about all that shit. Sometimes Mickey wasn't sure if he was gay, or just gay for Ian.

It was that distance from the little twin sized bed he'd traded out for the queen when he'd married Svetlana that made him worry that much more. So much shit had happened since then. Mickey honestly couldn't count how many times he'd been in jail since then. How many times he and Ian had called it off, parted ways. 

They always ended up back here, together. But never like this.

Ian didn't respond. Honestly, Mickey had stopped expecting him to, and instead started hoping he would. The distinction in those two modes was never something he'd had to think about before. Sighing frustratedly, Mickey sank down onto the edge of the bed, burying his face into his hands for a long moment. The damn Gallagher's were spouting all this bullshit about Ian being depressed, or bi-polarized or some shit he didn't understand, wouldn't understand. Ian wasn't broken. He wasn't fucked up like that. Yeah, he hadn't been right since he'd reappeared, but that didn't mean he suddenly had this invisible brain disease those uppity Gallagher fucks were trying to sell him on. Mickey knew Ian. He knew him, right?

Scrubbing his hands over his face and swallowing thickly, Mickey glanced over his shoulder at the white lump on his bed again and clenched his jaw. 

“Alright, fine. Shit. I gotta get to my goddamn job, get some fuckin' money to feed that cum-guzzlin' lesbo whore of a wife, and spawn of mine. You too, if you'd fuckin' get your scrawny white ass up and eat something.” Mickey tried again futilely. His language wasn't anything that would get a reaction, he knew that. At this point, people expected his vocabulary and he wasn't planning on changing it any time soon.

Silence, and then the slam of a door punctuated the tense moment. Ian stared at the water-stained wall, the dullness in his eyes stronger than the bone deep ache he felt not just in his limbs, but in his gut as well. It's not that he didn't want to say something, but it hurt just as much talking as it did keeping quiet.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Eight hours and Mickey was home again. Mandy was at the stove, trying to figure out how to make a grilled cheese with one slice of bread. Her head turned up to look at Mickey, and after a moment of hesitation seeing his questioning expression, she frowned a bit and shook her head. Looking at Svetlana next, he didn't know what he expected, seeing her passive stare on him. Of course she didn't give a fuck.

“Fucking hell...” Mickey huffed out in exasperation, tossing a small roll of bills onto the table near where Svetlana was sitting. “Get some goddamn food in this house and-and cover up that shit! I don't wanna watch the little fuck gobbling your tits, for fucks sake.” Mickey snapped at his breastfeeding wife, shaking his head as he stripped off his winter jacket, and stomped through the house, to his bedroom. 

At first, he was cautious in opening the door, not sure if he wanted to see what was inside. If Ian was still in the same position he'd been in when he'd left, Mickey thought he might scream,or lose it somehow. 

What waited for him, while it was different than what he'd been afraid of seeing, wasn't much better. Ian was out of bed, for the first time in three and a half days, but...

Seeing the way his naked boyfriend was half curled out the open window, audibly throwing up in a way that could only be described as violent. “What the fuck!” Mickey snapped out reflexively, across the room in a moment. Not that it was a long walk in the tiny house. Setting his hand firmly between Ian's shoulder blades, Mickey cursed, nearly retracting his hand as if he'd been burned. Ian's skin was freezing cold, clammy with sweat. Just touching him made Mickey grimace. Still, only once Ian seemed to be done dry heaving up streams of bile onto the snow below the window, Mickey hauled him back inside, and slammed the window shut again, latching it one handed as he fought to keep his boyfriend upright.

“God-fuck... Dammit Ian, the hell is going on with you? Come on, get over here.” Grunting his words out against the dead-weight of Ian's seemingly boneless body resting on him completely. A few shuffling steps had Mickey trying to dump him onto the bed as gently as possible. The thin white blanket on the bed was the first thing Mickey grabbed, covering up Ian's bare form. It wasn't nearly enough. 

“Can I get a real fucking blanket in here?! Shit!” Mickey yelled out sharply, his rough voice traveling through the thin walls. Of course, a moment after his voice had stopped, he heard the wail of his kid. Of fucking course. The last thing he needed was that bitch yelling at him for upsetting the little bastard. Luckily, it was Mandy that showed up in the doorway, mouth dropped open for a moment as the took in the scene.

Ian was shaking. Hard. Curled up in a tight ball in the center of the bed now, the tremors wracking his body were mild for the most part, but occasionally there was one sharp convulsion that spasmed through him uncontrollably.

“Holy fuck, Mick. Is he-” Mandy started.

“Are you fucking deaf? Get a goddamn blanket! A real one, not one of those fucking- yarn pieces of shit. He's half frozen!” Mickey snapped at her. She didn't need to be told again. Mandy knew the routine. Slipping over the bed, arms full of the comforter she'd swiped off of her own bed, she dumped it on top of Ian, and helped Mickey wordlessly cocoon him in.

“Mickey, he's going through withdrawals.” Mandy stated bluntly, almost seeming to disbelieve it even as she said it. Hearing the words left a bitter taste in his mouth, and he shook his head.

“You fuckin' think? Shit. I... Goddammit Gallagher.” Mickey muttered, watching Mandy feel his forehead for a moment.

“Meth? Coke?” She asked quietly. Mickey just shook his head, staring at his trembling boyfriend anxiously. 

“Fuck if I know.”

“Should I call-”

“You call one of those Gallagher fucks and I'll fuckin' lose it, Mandy. I'll take care of him. Go flip some waffles or tug on some dicks, whatever the fuck it is you do. I'll take care of Ian.”

Mickey ignored the glare and middle finger he received for that. Still, it did the trick and got her to leave. “Fuck... What the fucks going on with you, kid?” It was a question he wasn't expecting an answer to, and he didn't get one. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

It didn't take long, really for Ian's body to level out again after the sudden attack. It had taken a good half an hour to get Ian warmed up again, but once he was warm, and the shaking had stopped, Mickey felt a small ounce of hope, seeing a much more lucid glint to his eyes. 

“Hey, you back?” Mickey asked when he'd looked up from his phone. He let the device slip back into pocket in return for paying his full attention to Ian.

“Y... Yeah. I'm back.” Ian muttered quietly, as if it was exhausting to get the words out. Something inside of Mickey shattered, like a dam under too much pressure.

“The fuck, Ian? Drugs? You seriously been jacked up on drugs this whole time? Is that why you've been acting so... I don't even fucking know how to explain it.” He demanded to know. Ian's dark eyes leveled on the darker haired male who was going off for a few long moments. A tired smirk crossed over Ian's lips.

“Mickey, you almost sound worried. Careful. People might think you're gay.” Ian tried to joke.

“You're not fucking funny, Gallagher.” Mickey retorted easily. “Of course I'm fucking worried. My boyfriend, who I just pretty much ruined my whole reputation for, is a junkie?” Yeah I'm a little fuckin' worried. The big question here is why the fuck aren't you worried?” 

“Why are you pacing?” Ian deflected, catching Mickey off guard for a moment. 

“Well, gee, I wonder what could have possibly made me anxious enough to pace. Fucker. I should shove my foot up your ginger ass.” Mickey gritted out at the infuriatingly nonchalant teen in his bed.

“Jesus, Mickey. Calm down. It's literally no big deal. What time is it? I should probably get ready for work.” Ian muttered, pushing himself upright, and scratching a little bit at the side of his neck. Laughing a bit, Mickey walked over, and firmly shoved Ian back down, deciding to climb up on top of him for the moment, to keep him from getting up again. He doubted the fatigue in Ian's firm body would allow him enough strength to dislodge him, like he normally could. “Get off, Mickey. I have to-”

“You have to shut the fuck up and talk to me, that's what the fuck you have to do right now.” 

“Could you give it a rest? It's not a big deal.”

“It is! It is a big fuckin' deal Ian! You've been a goddamn vegetable for 3 fuckin' days in this fuckin' bed! I didn't know what the fuck to do! Your family is worried sick. You know they wanted to institutionalize you? Something about your mother, and depression? So yeah. It's a big fuckin' deal.” Mickey snapped. A look of surprise played across Ian's features, conflicted as if he were trying to swallow and process more than a few things. 

“Three days?” He finally got out, glancing at the window as if he could verify it that way. It was already getting dark out. “Shit.”

“So, no. You're not going to work. You're going to sit here, and tell me what the fuck happened to you Gallagher. Because you been different since you got back, and I... Fuck...” Mickey trailed off for a moment, and licked his lips a little bit. “I want my boyfriend back, goddammit.” His voice was quieter as he said that, and immediately, Ian's features softened. It was the first time in a long time that Ian's eyes hadn't looked glazed over and distant in so long. “What happened?”

“Alright... fuck. Fine. I'll tell you, just... get off of me. You're killing my ribs.” Satisfied with that, Mickey swung off of Ian, and sat next to him, looking sidelong at him. 

“You callin' me fat?” Mickey huffed, and smoothed back his black hair, as he leaned against the headboard.

“And if I am?” Ian teased a bit, pulling himself tiredly into an upright position as well, curling the blankets around him again. 

“Then I'll beat your pansy-ass, sick or not.” It was a brief, light moment that left them both chuckling for a bit, until the somber mood returned. 

“Hey, I'm like... really hungry. Is there any food here?” Ian asked finally, breaking the silence. It had been a while since he'd had much of an appetite, so it surprised Mickey. 

“Uh, yeah, I think I can find something. But then-”

“Then I talk.” Ian finished, placating the other for the moment. Mickey seemed satisfied with that, though, and slipped out of the room, heading into the kitchen where he gave Mandy a nod that spoke volumes between the two sibling. 

It took a few minutes, but Mickey finally headed back into the bedroom with a plate of hastily thrown together food, handing it to Ian before at last kicking off his shoes, and stripping down to his underclothes. He wanted to shed the layers he put on every day to go out and do the things he had to do. In this space, with Ian, he could just be this. He slipped into bed while Ian shoved about half the food into his face, and worked it down. 

“I've been taking speed.” Ian said finally, bluntly, breaking the silence.

“You fuckin' think? You've been more hyper than squirrel on crank lately. That one was obvious.” Mickey muttered, shaking his head. Ian didn't gt mad at the retort, feeling like it was justified, and true.

“When I got back from the army... I needed something to... help.” Ian was quiet for a little bit longer, as he finished eating, and set the plate aside with a sigh.

“To help?”

“Yeah, to help... deal. Some shit kind of went down and I didn't... I wasn't coping with it well.”

“What kind of shit?”

“Bad shit. Heavy shit.” Ian's voice was barely more than a whisper, but it was okay because for the first time in weeks, the Milkovich household was quiet, and Mickey could actually hear.

“...Somebody hurt you?” Mickey asked in a brusque, stiff tone, feeling his shoulders tense already, braced for the worst.

It was a few moments before Ian let a quiet 'yeah' slip out.

“...Somebody rape you?” His voice cold, and quiet, knuckles white as his fists clenched in his lap.  
“Yeah.” It was more of a breath than an actual word. A long time passed between them in silence, before either attempted to speak again. “I... My T.I. He found a picture under the bed roll on my cot, and-”

“A picture? You had fuckin' gay porn at boot camp? You dumbass.” Mickey rolled his eyes.

“It wasn't fucking porn.” Ian snapped roughly, glaring at him for a moment, before averting his eyes again. “It was a picture of you, okay? I had a picture of you, and he found it, and he decided to make my life a living hell after that. They repealed that stupid law about gays in the military but it's still not exactly... safe there, for people like me.”

“People like us.” Mickey added quietly. His head was reeling a bit from the admission that Ian had kept a picture of him too. “Alright, so he saw my ugly mug?” He sighed and glanced over at Ian.

“He saw the picture, and for like... a week he didn't do anything. Well, he picked on me a bit more... specifically, in training. Worked me harder than the others, picked at every little thing I did to find something wrong. I- Well. One night, he had me out in the obstacle course, running through crawls because he didn't think I was doing it right-which I fucking was by the way-but it was hours of just crawling back and forth under barbed wire, in the mud.” Mickey watched Ian's body language as he told his story, the way he curled his legs up into his chest, hugging them there and clenching his hands around his own forearms so tightly, he could see the flesh on his arms going white under the pressure.

Mickey wanted to say something, to tell Ian he didn't have to keep going. Ian was lost in his own thoughts and memories for a long moment. He wanted to get it out, so Mickey would listen, no matter how much it made him uncomfortable.

“I got up, after finishing my last pass, just covered head to to in mud and dirt. And he got right in my face, just... screaming. About how he knew some... faggot pussy like me just couldn't keep up, couldn't handle the work. That I was worthless, and stupid, and then he started saying other stuff, like... like how he just knew I was a whore, and that the only reason I joined the army was to be around as many cocks as possible... He asked me how many I'd taken already, and he shoved me to the ground and-” Ian couldn't finish. Mickey did his best to ignore the way Ian's face turned blotchy red, or the furious way he scrubbed his wrist across his wet eyes. 

Reaching over, Mickey quietly scrubbed his palm over the back of Ian's head and then tugged him in against himself. Ian went easily, resting heavily against Mickey's side.

“It happened... a couple more times before I realized I had to get out of there. I was fucked up, I just... I wanted to get out, so I did something really stupid. I tried to start the helicopter. When I got back, I couldn't face my family. I couldn't go back there so I found Monica and she took me on this... week long bender. I was having nightmares, so she gave me some speed to help keep me awake. I liked the way it made me feel. Monica hooked me up with the job at the White Swallow, and the speed just helped me... not give a shit about what I was doing.” 

Shaking his head, Mickey leaned in and pressed his nose into Ian's hair, taking a deep breath. 

“So why the sudden withdrawals if you've been swallowing down amphetamines like tic-tacs?” He asked finally, deciding not to comment about the rest of his story. There wasn't anything he could do about the past.

“You freed yourself for me, you told everyone the truth to be with me. I didn't think it was fair for me to keep on doing the shit I was doing after everything you did for me.” Ian admitted quietly. For some reason, that made something in Mickey's chest clench tightly.

“God you fuckin' fag.” Mickey said roughly, and tugged Ian by his hair up, and pressed bruised mouth to bruised mouth. “You know, it was pretty hot when you punched my dad in the face.” 

Looking up at Mickey, Ian's eyes squinted a bit at him and smirked. “You fucking fag.” He tossed the words back at his boyfriend.

“Damn right I am, Gallagher.”


End file.
